In the Deep Down Under
by Iamawsome
Summary: T for safety. Alex gets assigned a mission to go undercover in a Juvenile asylum. Summary inside.
1. Prolouge

I know there is probably a whole lot of grammar errors and all that stuff in here, but I'm putting it up anyway. It's the prolouge....... Review???

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Have you ever been to the place

Where you have no control

No thoughts

No hope?

Have you seen the end of the

Black swallowing hole

That is the end?

My life had spun out of control.

I really wish it hadn't.

I was stuck

In the place

This vortex

Of hatred

And death.

Have you been to the place

Where there's no air

And no trees

And no human beings?

There is no love either

In this realm of gloom.

Have you seen the look

In the eyes of

The demon

Who is like the troll

At the entrance of this

Winding

Twisting

Never-ending

"Thing"?

The end is near he says

But you know it's not

And you know it loud and clear

Because it's your last thought

Before entering this hell of a place.

I never did see the end

Of this

Mystery of some sort.

Because my friends

The end was black.

But I know

The world started in black-darkness.

So the end was just the beginning.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am Alex Rider's wife. Therefore, I don't own him. But doesn't that apostrophe before the s in Rider's mean he owns me????

Not sure what this is going to turn out to be. One shot or multi. What ev. I got this idea from my other fic Jobs… Oh Dear, though they have nothing in common.

Summary: Alex gets assigned a mission to go undercover in a Juvenile asylum. There he meets a boy who was blackmailed into living here. Alex decides to help him, but how? Without blowing his cover- a boy who stabbed himself during Emotional Dysregulation- Alex must help save the boy's life, as long as he can stay sane. **Not going to be slash.**

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Chapter One-Going Under

"And I was like, NO WAY!" Alex could her Jack giggling with one of her friends while one the phone all the way from where he sat in the kitchen. It was simple. Crème walls. Off white tiles. Mahogany dining table with matching chairs. "_Comfortable." _Alex thought.

It was a Saturday in September. School had begun and kids were playing outside, their laughs echoing through the streets. But not this one boy in particular. No, Alex Rider was sitting at his kitchen table with a pile of school work in front of him.

There hadn't even been a month of school yet and Alex had still managed to only go for three days. "You'd think MI6 would want me to have a proper education, but no!" thought Alex, sighing and slouching in his seat.

"Shut up! No way! He did??? I can't believe that! Nah uh!" There was Jack again, her voice level louder than necessary. But Alex didn't care. "At least she's having a good time. " …. Alex.

There was a knock at the door and Alex slowly got up from where he sat. He looked through the peep hole to see a scrawny looking boy grinning, hold what looked like an xbox game.

Tom barged in right as Alex began to open the door.

"Look what I got!" Tom shouted, holding up the game. "Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2! Can you believe it? I've been saving up my allowance for this for weeks!" He handed it to Alex who smiled at his friend, already in a better mood.

An hour and a half later, and countless rounds of COD, the two boys decided to play football. Alex grabbed his gear from the garage, letting Tom borrow some old stuff that fit him perfectly since it was stuff Alex grew out of, and they walked to the field 3 blocks down.

"I bet you three dollars and a movie of choice I can score on you from here." Tom screamed to Alex from across the field.

"Sure." Replied Alex, knowing he would be getting the money and movie. Tom was all the way by the other goal. Being a tiny 5'4, Tom's little legs would not be able to power the ball far enough.

Tom was lining up his shot when Alex saw him. He was walking a big dog-A Dalmatian by the looks of it- and holding a newspaper. His name was Mr. Crawley of the Royal and General Bank, and Alex knew only too well why he was here.

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I decided to end it here. I know it's short, but I want to know what people think before I move on. R&R people!

-Toodles


	3. Crash and Burn

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.

Claimer: I own this plot! Yeeeeah!

**AN** I am sooooooooOoOoOOo sorry this is so late! I went on a trip for 11ish days with no wireless, then I was sick –well, still am- , and I have so much homework and a project. But I am updating now, so yeah! **Also,** I'm changing the POV to Alex's.

Thank you for all your reviews! On to the story!

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Chapter 2- Crash and Burn

"Tom, stop!" I yelled just in time. I held up a finger telling him one minute and walk over to Mr. Crawley. His gray hair was thin, and his green eyes tracked me down as I walked over to him. His blue track suit could have been a size bigger, and it looked as if he had stepped in a puddle of mud-his white sneakers now brown.

"Alex! How good to see you!" He said with a big smile.

"Wish I could say the same to you. Just tell me what you want."

"Oh, not what I want. What Mr. Blunt wants. He has arranged a car to take you to the Royal and General." I wish I could have swiped the smile off his ugly face. He was starting to annoy me.

"Hold on one sec." I jogged over to Tom. His big blue eyes looking at my curiously, his head cocked to one side.

"I have been ordered to the "bank". Call ya later?" The disappointment in his eyes was obvious.

"Yeah, sure….. whatever." I turned and walked back to where Mr. Crawley was now standing. A black car had pulled up to the curb near where he stood. Without a word, I got into the car, as did Crawley.

Out the window of the car I could see kids playing in the park, couples with their kids, dogs chasing Frisbees. They all lived their lives totally oblivious to what went on behind the cover of the Royal and General. I wished I could have been outside. Playing, running, screaming. Kids like me weren't meant for the world of MI6.

It happened in seconds. As we turned the corner on to _**1)**_ Kings Street, a blue BMW raced down the street, crashing into the car I travelled in. In the front, the airbags blew up in Crawley's and the driver's faces. My head crashed into the seat in front of me, and I felt glass shards from the broken window enter my tanned arm. Blood trickled down the side of my face and dripped on to my white shirt. I yanked off my seat belt and got out of the car. I saw that both Crawley and the driver were unconscious. The lady who drove the BMW was too, but what looked like her boyfriend was yelling at the police who had just arrived, saying it was our fault.

A crowd had formed and I slipped away from the accident. My head hurt as did my arm and I just needed to get to the bank. Of course, life isn't so easy.

"Hey, you! Kid! You were in this car, weren't you?" A buff man hollered from where he stood by the now beat up cars. I looked at him helplessly, putting all my emotion into a miserable expression. He turned his back on me and started talking to the police. He was just a witness, but trying to get involved.

I walked the blocks to the Royal and General Bank with a hard expression on my face. People stopped and stared, wonder what had happened to this bloodied boy. I just kept walking. I needed no one's pity or help.

When I finally arrived at the bank, my shirt was covered in my own blood and I couldn't feel my arm. I didn't care. The secretaries seated at the front desk looked up at me, but recognizing who I was, immediately looked back down. I strolled over to the elevator, pressing the up button. I got into the shiny gold elevator and hit the **2) **7th floor button. All of a sudden the anxiety of meeting Blunt and Jones again hit me. _What do they want this time?_

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**1 **I just made that up. What street is the bank on again?

**2 **I made that up too.

Im sorry it's so short! I promise next chapter will a) be longer, and b) have Alex finally find out his mission. Review please!


	4. Just a Dream

Disclaimer: I wish, but I don't own Alex Rider.

Okay

So..... this story really sucks so far, but I'm going to make it better. Really, once I get into the actual mission it will be better. I'm going to try really hard.

AN: Also, Alex's cover age is 16. I'm using the current year 2010, so he was born in 1994.

Chapter 3-This is just a dream

The blood on me had dried and the pain had moved to the back of my mind. I got stares while walking down the hallway to 's room. I ran a hand through my messy blonde hair and just kept walking. _Stare all you want, just don't talk to me._

"Mr. Rider. How have you been lately?" Like Mrs. Jones actually cared. If she did, I'd be at the park now with a bunch of kids playing footie or just chilling. I might have a girlfriend and a social life. But she didn't care, so I didn't and I wasn't.

"Honestly, I've been fucking great." She's taken aback. Of course she must think I'm being sarcastic. I'm not. "You know why? Mrs. Jones, can you guess? You know what? I'll tell you why. The reason is because I haven't done anything for you in the last two weeks! That's why. So yeah, I've been great lately. Thanks for asking. And you?"

"Um, I've been fine thanks. Mr. Blunt is in here waiting for you......" She beckons to the door she's standing in front of and I push past her and strode right in, Mrs. Jones following.

Mr. Blunt is sitting there at his mahogany desk, hands clasped together, his chin on his hands. Then he sits up and narrows his eyes, nods his balding head, and beckons me to come and sit across from him. Then he lights a cigar. Okay dude, this isn't the freaking Godfather. You're freaking me out.

"Alex." That's how he starts, "How have you been lately?" Before I can answer Mrs. Jones states from where she is standing in the corner by the door, "We've already covered that." Mr. Blunt is ready to move on.

_Just spit it out you douche_. He just sits there staring at me like I'm a freaking marionette puppet. I raise my eyebrows. _Yes?_

"I'll get straight to it Alex. You are going on another mission." He pauses, guessing I would have some sarcastic remark, then continues, "Sam Hunter, a 15 year old boy is living in a Juvenile asylum. Why? Not because he cuts himself, not because he is crazy either. Because Alex, he was blackmailed." I gasp for dramatic effect. You can tell Mr. Blunt does not appreciate it. "As I was saying, Mr. Hunter has been having a difficult time. He has been forced to act as if he really belongs at the asylum. They said that he was depressed and jumped out the window of his third floor apartment. He was then hospitallized but ran away. That's why they sent them to the asylum. Of course that is all a lie. You see, Sam has a very rich father. The people who are blackmailing him told Mr. Hunter that if he want little Sam to live, he would have to pay them."

"Who is them?" I ask.

"We dont know Alex, we dont know." Mrs. Jones tales a step foward and says, "Well we do have our suspects of course, but were working on narrowing down the list." We sit there in silence, the obvious question hanging in the air.

"And what do you want me to do?" I edge to the front of my chair getting axious. Mr. Blunt smiles and says camly, "You Alex, are going undercover to that asylum to help this boy out."

_I was going to an asylum..... yippe._

It was one in the morning and Alex was looking over his file for his mission:

Name: Alec Giovanni Reed

Birthdate: March 6, 1994

Appearance: 5'11. Blonde hair. Tan skin. Brown eyes.

Cover story: Alec Reed was sent to Sunnyday Juvenile Asylum after stabbing himself. He is emotionally deregulated and is dealing with severe depression and cutting. His parents Mr. Noah Reed and Chiara Salvatore-Reed, have taken him to several doctors. He has been on anti-depressants for four years and has been seeing psychologist Dr. Ryan Lee for five years. Alec Reed has been expelled from five different schools.

Mission: To find out who is blackmailing Sam Hunter. Figure out why they sent him there, and who _they_ are.

Sighing, I closed the file and put it on the ground next to where he sat on his bed. Alec Reed was not anything like me. It will be difficult to act like him. I pulled my shirt off, examining the fake stab wound MI6 had made sure they had placed. They had also tattooed scars over my wrists to look as if I had been cutting myself. I must admit, the tattoos were pretty cool. Some looked older and some looked fresh and new. The stab tattoo over my stomach had tattooed stitches around it as if I had been sewed back together.

Leaning over my night table, I switched off my lamp. Tomorrow I left for New York City, where the asylum is. It was a tricky mission. I'd have to act like some anti-social freak. Become friends with this boy Sam while still being unsocial. Deal with all the stupid therapy and lessons. Live off of, most likely, crappy food. Complete my mission without some unknown organization killing me. And, let's not forget, keeping my cover.

This was the perfect way to start the new school year. What would the reason be this time? Like anyone would believe it.

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Excited for the next chapter! Yeeeah. Finally, the beginning of the mission. Please review!

-Toodles


	5. My Life is Insanity

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. But if Anthony Horowitz dies, I get dibbs.

Remember, when I write how people are talking it's not necessarily grammatically correct, because people don't always speak in grammatically correct terms.

Yeeeeah! The start of the mission. Okay, so there are going to be some psychotic disorders mentioned in this chapter. I'm not going to put in the actual story what each one is, but definitions will be at the bottom of the page. Enjoy!

Chapter 4-My Life is Insanity

Landing in New York while it's pouring and thundering does not put you in a good mood. Landing at three in the morning because your flight was delayed puts you in an even worse mood. Knowing you're going to an asylum, well that tops it off.

I was not happy landing here in New York City. John F. Kennedy airport was packed with people, and it took me forever to get through security. MI6 had given me a fake passport to go with my cover and told me that there was someone I would meet to drive me to the asylum.

New York was…. interesting, to say the least. Teenagers with blue hair walked by, and parents all had coffee in their hands while running after their hyper kids. Everyone talked loudly, and with that New York accent.

As I walked to the airport parking lot, dragging my carry-on luggage and a backpack, I scanned the area for my driver. Apparently MI6 had people all over NYC and had called someone up as soon as they told me I was heading this way. I had been told to look for a short man in his late thirties. Short brown hair, blue eyes, and wearing a suit had been part of the description, but that really didn't help much. But the sign I had been told that he would be holding helped.

There he was; holding a sign that read Reed in big letters. I crossed the parking lot over to him.

"You must be Alec," he said, smirking. He probably knew my name was Alex. "It's a pleasure to meet ya." His heavy New York accent annoyed me. He took my luggage, placing it in the trunk of the black, official looking car. I opened the door, accidently opening it on the driver side. It would take a little getting used to. Blushing, I went around to the other side and sat down in the passenger seat.

The drive to the asylum was short, around a half an hour. My driver, David, chatted up a storm, asking all different questions. I replied with one word answers, not in the mood to talk. He got the message eventually and shut up.

It wasn't as I imagined it. The asylum did not live up to its name (Sunnyday Asylum), but it definitely was not how I imagined it. I had pictured more of a jail like foundation, with barbered wire fences, ugly window, and mold on the walls. The building had a brick foundation, but the rest was glass. It looked sort of like a hospital. A very nice hospital.

David pulled up to the curb in front of the main entrance where an awning was. He got out and pulled my stuff out of the trunk.

"Goodbye Alec, good luck," David he said as he got back into the car and drove off, leaving me on the curb with my luggage and backpack.

Let it begin.

"Your bed is in here," said the nurse, hellomynameisNacy, while opening a door leading to a very hospitalized room with two beds. The one closest to the door was occupied. I walked over to the bed closet to the window as hellomynameisNacy left the room. I put my backpack under the bed and started unpacking my clothes into the dresser at the foot of the bed.

"I'm Sam. And you?" the boy on the bed said.

Turning to the bed next to me, I recognized the boy. He must be Sam Hunter, I though. _Perfect_. Sam was obviously American because his annoying accent rung through the room. His big green eyes looked at me questionably. He had short brown hair, slightly spike up in the front. He had a major amount of freckles all over his face. His cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. "Your name?"

"Oh, it's Alec. Alec Reed." I said with an edge, trying to act more like Alec than Alex. I turned back to putting the rest of my stuff away in the wood drawer. The room had three walls of a pale blue colour and with a white trim. One wall was just one large window with white curtains. The floors were white tile, and they had a cold feel; they hadn't been put in place with our comfort in mind. The two beds had a night table in the middle, and each bed was accompanied by a small dresser at the foot.

"Waddya in for?" Sam said, as if I was doing time in jail for a crime. I was a good actor. He had a sort of sneer in his look that he must have perfected in the months he had been staying here. The wing we were in in the building was where all the people who were almost done with their therapy and treatments were. Everyone here had only had around a month left before they would leave for wherever they came from. In Sam's case, Los Angles, California.

"None of your business, is it?"

"No, but you're anti-social for sure," he said smirking. My middle finger went up at him as I glared. He just chucked and went back to the book he was reading. He was slouching on his bed, his legs stretched out and crossed.

"Emotional dysregulation and severe depression," I stated sighing, as if giving in. "And you?"

"People do crazy things when they're depressed," Sam said, leaving it at that. Of course I already knew his cover was he had jumped out of his third floor apartment window while depressed, but I would have to get him to tell me.

"You know you don't have to stay in this dinky room all day, Anti-Alec, right?" I had only known Sam for about five minutes at the most and I already had a nickname. _Great._

"No, I didn't know that, Sassy-Sam."

"Lounge is down the hall to the right, pass the desk and there's gonna be a door. Everyone from this wing can hang out in there. Lots of girls. Some hot. You look like you'd like that. So go have fun, Anti-Alec." And with that, Sam's nose was back in his book.

Getting up from my bed, I left the room with one last glance at my pleasant roommate.

_The hall to the right, pass the desk and there's gonna be a door._

I opened the mahogany door slowly, not quite sure what I was going to find. A bunch of psychos bounding around, or kids who seemed to be hypnotized playing a symphony orchestra.

It was a light brown room filled with a bunch of teenagers. There were a group of five laughing and chatting off to the right, two dweebs playing cards at a set of table and chairs in the back. There was a girl, with long, wavy brown hair in a high ponytail sitting on the windowsill. She was by herself looking out the window. I sat down next to her, trying to follow her gaze out the window.

"When I get outta 'ere," she started, "I donna what I'm gonna do." She had an Italian accent. Turning her big brown eyes on me, she asked, "What about you?"

_Hm, let me think. Well, if this goes how all my missions normally do, I'll probably wake up in the hospital. Then I'll go home for a couple days. Then report to MI6. _"I don't know," I whisper lamely.

"I came here when I was twelve. I'm fifteen now. I haven't left since." She looks back to the window. "I was always a troubled girl. I was born with** paranoid** **schizophrenia**. There was always this man following me. Well, not really of course, I know that only now, though. When I was five I tried to kill myself. I slit my wrist with hair clips." She laughs, as if it's the most stupid thing in the world, and then continues, "Obviously it didn't work, but it was then that my parents started taking me to doctors. I hated everyone. I threatened to kill people; my parents, their friends. I threw my cat out the window. My mum died when I was eight. It took its toll on me. I was severely depressed after that. I was dealing with so much. I was crazy. I moved here to America from Italy after my mum's death. My father went to school here and met who is now my step-mum. I kept getting worse and worse, attempting suicide, talking about this man who followed me, wanting to kill everyone and everything. My step-mum suggested to my father I go somewhere like this. Now I'm here. Why are you here?"

I blink. That is one life story. "I stabbed myself. Emotionally dysregulated. Depressed. And you?" I know she has all this going on, but what topped it off? _These poor kids, _I think, looking around. Have they all gone through this? She gets up and walks to the door, her long hair swishing and swaying. She's half out the door when she looks back at me and says,

"I killed my mother."

**Schizophrenia **is a mental disorder that makes it difficult to tell the difference between real and unreal experiences, to think logically, to have normal emotional responses, and to behave normally in social situations. As the illness continues, psychotic symptoms develop:

An appearance or mood that shows no emotion (flat affect)

Bizarre motor behavior in which there is less reaction to the environment (catatonic behavior)

False beliefs or thoughts that have nothing to do with reality (delusions)

Hearing, seeing, or feeling things that are not there (hallucinations)

Thoughts "jump" between unrelated topics (disordered thinking)


	6. Homing up to Hell

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider. I do not own any apple products that I may talk about either-well, I own them, like I have and ipod and ipad, but I don't have the copyright over it. Does that makes sense???**

**Claimer: **

**Roses are red, **

**violets are blue.**

**If you steal my story,**

**I'll sue you………….. What? It's the American pastime.**

**AN: I am so sorry I have not updated in such a long time! I really, really am. My life is so hectic at the moment. I really wanted to update, so here is something…. Hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 5-Homing Up to Hell

"Yup," Sam replied. "That sure sounds like Maria." He said after I described the interesting girl I had talked to. It wasn't until now that I realized I hadn't found out her name. Maria. It suited her.

It was nine o' clock here in New York. Outside it was gloomy, dark, and raining. My lovely roommate had the bed farthest from the window, so my head, being closer to the window, was right next to the window with the heavy precipitation thumping against it.

So far I had managed to not only learn nothing about Sam, but get on his bad side. I couldn't tell if he was acting completely or if he really was a jerk, but if he was acting, he was good. It would take a lot to get him to tell me what I needed to know.

Laying my head down on my plain white pillow, I turned off the lamp on my small bedside table. Staring straight at the ceiling, I whispered, "I wonder what it's like to kill your own mother." I did not know that Sam was still up, but that was clarified when I heard his response of,

"Hell."

_The thumping of rain drops of the ground was constant._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drop._

_Plop._

_Splish._

_Splash._

_Drip._

_Drip._

"_Alex? Alex!" I could hear Jack crying. Her feet pounded against the wood steps, taking them by two._

"_Alex! Please answer me!" My door burst open. Jack stood there with her hands to her mouth, mascara running down her cheeks, and tears in her eyes. "Wh-what did they do to you? Oh, Alex!" She kneels down next to me on the floor where I lie in a puddle of deep crimson blood. _

_Jack holds me in her arms and cries._

_I slowly drift off. My normally blue room turns a light gray. Jack's bright hair is dull. And I-I am slowly dying. At my own hand._

_And the rain keeps pounding._

_Drip. _

_Drip._

_Drop._

_Plop._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Like my tears falling from my cheeks to the floor._

I jolt awake, sweat on my forehead, tears in my eyes. Embarrassed, I check to make sure Sam is still asleep. He is. His open mouth has drool hanging out of it and his arm is off his bed.

Jack.

I wish I could somehow contact her. I knew she was probably at home, scared to death, thinking the organization who was blackmailing Sam would kill me. I would make sure they didn't…….. for Jack. I missed her. Whenever I was on a mission, I always missed her. And what hurt me the most was that I knew me being gone hurt her even more.

Before I had left MI6, I had reported to Smithers. He had given me three gadgets. The first was an old ipod nano that could be used as a recorder. It also allowed you to listen in on conversations. All you did was stick the heasdphones in your ears and point the top of the ipod toward the people speaking. Their conversation would play through the headphones, and if you wanted to record it, you just hit the middle button. Any recording could be sent to MI6 just by hitting the middle button three times in a row. The next gadget was a small picture frame. It was an elaborate gadget that Smithers had just came up with. If the small button on the side was clicked, the place where a photo should be placed turned into something kind of like an ipad lets say. You could write and send emails to MI6, take notes, and search things using the web. For writing, a small keyboard showed up at the bottom of the screen. Finally, a small, blue Lamborghini model car. When you opened the doors, sleeping gas would come out. It only stayed in effect for 15 minutes, but that was long enough for me to get away in a tight situation. They were hidden in a box under my bed next to my empty bags.

I heard shuffling next to me and looked over to see Sam's bleary eyes locked with my wide-awake ones.

"Mornin', Sam grumbled getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom. Once I heard the shower water turn on, I got out of bed and quickly email MI6:

**No suspicion yet. Eyes wide open.**

**-Alex **

So far, I had not found anything strange here at the asylum. Just a bunch of almost-cured kids and lots of nurses.

I picked myself up from lying on the floor next to my bed and strode over to Sam's bed. I searched it to see anything unusual. Nothing. Then, getting on my hands and knees, I search under the bed. I find a box full of files, papers, pictures, and charts. I grab one of the papers. It's a typed up letter, but it's not signed. Hmm, maybe-

"Get your hand off that!" Sam screams!

Uh-oh!

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**Please review!**


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